


It's the only way to live

by htbthomas



Category: Stumptown (TV)
Genre: Backstory, Canon-Typical Violence, Cars, F/F, Gen, Parking Tickets, Pre-Canon, Slice of Life
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2019-12-25
Updated: 2019-12-25
Packaged: 2021-02-26 01:41:13
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 2,092
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/21841591
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/htbthomas/pseuds/htbthomas
Summary: Just a tale of a girl and her car—and a few of the parking tickets she got along the way.
Relationships: Dex Parios & Her Car, Dex Parios/Original Female Character(s)
Comments: 11
Kudos: 45
Collections: Yuletide 2019





	It's the only way to live

**Author's Note:**

  * For [APgeeksout](https://archiveofourown.org/users/APgeeksout/gifts).



> Thanks to GlassesofJustice for the beta.
> 
> Title from "Cars" by Gary Numan.

_One foot on the brake and one on the gas, hey! / Well, there's too much traffic, I can't pass, no!_ Dex sings along with the tape deck, tapping her hand on the steering wheel. She fucking loves this Mustang; it's the best 600 bucks she ever spent. Even the wonky tape deck is awesome; who could ever get tired of Sammy Hagar? Plus it always seems to play just the right song at just the right time.

She turns up the volume as Sammy belts out, _"Post my face wanted dead or alive / Take my license, all that jive / I can't drive 55!"_ She sing-screams, "Oh No!" along with him, and floors the accelerator just for fun.

Of course, that's when the car stalls out completely. 

"Oh, shit, no," she says fighting with the steering wheel and trying to coast over to the curb without getting hit by one of the cars screaming by on either side. "I know, asshole!" she shouts, meaning all of them in total. "Don't you think I know?!"

She somehow makes it safely to the curb even though it's an extremely awkward angle. What now? She can't afford Triple A and her insurance doesn't cover towing, not for a beater like this. Maybe she should call Grey...

...who warned her when she bought the thing that it was a piece of shit and that he'd end up fixing it all the time. What's she gonna do? Prove him right in the first month?

Grey arrives about ten minutes after she calls, which is actually quicker than it takes her to walk back from the place that let her use the phone, the fourth place she tried. Yes, she should get a better phone plan, thank you for your ultimate wisdom, gas station clerk behind two inches of Plexiglas. Grey's already got the hood up, even though she locked the doors, right, ex-car thief.

He doesn't even look up when she comes beside him. "Told you this was a piece of—" 

"Don't wanna hear it. Can you fix it?"

"Already did." He lets the hood drop with a bang that makes her wince. "Start her up, will ya?"

She slides into the car from the passenger side and inserts the key. But before she can turn it, she notices a piece of paper stuck under the windshield wiper. Only one thing that could be. "Shit."

"Was there when I got here," Grey says with a shrug from the other side of the glass.

* * *

Ansel's face is plastered to the passenger side window as he sleeps, oblivious to the world. He's tired out, which makes sense, considering they spent the morning driving up to Vancouver then back again at the end of the day. She'd wanted to stay overnight, but no, Ansel insisted.

"I thought you wanted to see Canada for your birthday?"

"I did. I saw it, now let's go home."

So much for being the cool older sister. She'd even made sure the car had a clean bill of health from Grey before taking it out, and made sure her phone bill was paid just in case they ran into any trouble. But everything had been fine. And Ansel had smiled so much that she couldn't help smiling along with him, so much that her face started to hurt. But he tired out, and so had she, and boy, wouldn't a hotel room have been a better choice...

She sees the _Portland - 20 miles_ sign up ahead and stifles a yawn. They're almost home, and she can imagine the way it's going to feel to slip between those soft sheets and her cool pillow— 

_BANG!_ The sound of her car's tires hitting a pothole coincide with the stereo blaring to life. _"I drove all night to get to you / Is that alright..."_ "

"Augh!" Ansel shouts, coming awake with a jolt. "Turn that off!"

"I can't!" she shouts back, now fully awake as well, and is pressing every button on the stereo anyway. "You know I can't!"

"At least turn it down!"

"Okay!"

They'd had it turned up high earlier, singing along and enjoying the scenery before it got too dark. So she turns the dial as low as it goes, and Ansel settles back to sleep almost immediately.

Not Dex, though. "Thanks," she murmurs to the car, rubbing a fond hand over the dashboard. "I needed that. You're a good girl, after all."

She makes it the rest of the twenty miles and sees Ansel settled safely in bed before falling asleep on top of the covers curled beside him. It's the next morning when she has to wait in the world's longest line for the most-needed cup of coffee ever that she gets parking ticket number three. She lets it disintegrate in the morning rain.

* * *

Dex doesn't know why she couldn't just wait until they got to her place, but by the time the girl's got her hands under Dex's shirt in the backseat, she doesn't care anymore. The girl—hasn't asked her name, probably won't—has these perfectly manicured nails, and they're currently scratching a path down her back that is making her gasp in combined pleasure and pain. 

The backseat is way too small in this car, but that's part of the fun, trying to maneuver into a position where you can reach everything you want and still feel comfortable. Dex tries to kick forward one of the seats, but misses, hitting the dashboard instead. As expected, the stereo turns on, Billy Ocean crooning, _"Get outta my dreams, and into my car"_ —not ear-blastingly loud but it still makes Dex bang her head into the window in surprise.

The girl doesn't do more than smile seductively and lean down to whisper in Dex's ear, "I'm already here, aren't I?" One of her hands deftly undoes Dex's jeans at the same time.

"Oh, yeah." Dex swallows, coming a little undone too. She grips the panic bar above her head to steady herself. Her breath sounds loud in the enclosed space, and it's a little chilly outside so the windows are fogging up and those fingers dip below the elastic of her underwear—

 _Rap Rap Rap_. They both freeze and look toward the sound.

It's a cop, standing there next to the car with a flashlight in his hand. "Move it along, you two," he says. "This isn't the place for that."

Oh no? She'd checked the signs, it was only no parking during the daylight hours. This is some bullshit... "Not the place for what? Parking? Nothing wrong with what we're doing, pal. And if you cracked my window, I'll—!"

The girl places her hand on Dex's shoulder. "It's okay, I only live a couple blocks from here." To the cop, she says, "Sorry, officer. We're leaving."

He nods, and walks on down the street.

"You didn't have to apologize," Dex says, annoyed. "And we don't have to move either."

"No," she says, kissing Dex softly on the neck, "it's really close. And a lot more comfortable," she adds with a kiss lower down.

"You make very good points."

When she finally gets back to the car late the next morning, there's a parking ticket on the windshield. Number seven. She swears and crumples it up to shove into the glove box, along with most of the others.

* * *

Dex eyes the pot at the center of the table, her car keys topping the pile of cash and random jewelry. She's got three nines and a pair of sixes, and unless the guy across from her is holding four of a kind or a flush, she's going to get those back along with all the rest of it. But there's something in his eyes, something she doesn't trust. Like even if she wins the hand, he'll be taking the pot anyway. His friends, shifting surreptitiously against the wall to either side, seem to back her hunch up.

"You know what?" she says, putting her cards face down. "I think it's time to call it a night."

"You folding?" the guy across the table says with a sneer, and his friends relax ever so slightly.

There it is, her opening. "Nah," she says, snatching the keys off the pile before flipping the table with a single heave.

The room bursts into motion as the cards, drinks and pot scatter everywhere, the other players shouting in shock and the guy and his friends ducking and covering like a bomb exploded in their midst. It's nothing like that, or she'd be struck mute and paralyzed for a few precious seconds while she processes through painful memories of her time served overseas. She sprints for the exit; hopefully that moment of surprise is just enough for her to get out of there with her car and body, if not pride or pocketbook, intact.

But she feels a vicious tug on the corner of her jacket that spins her around to face one of the friends. "You serve, too?" she asks, cocking her head, and it's enough of a non sequitur that he frowns. With a scissor kick, she knocks him and that expression several feet back.

Then she runs.

It's a dead run, not looking back, an arrow-straight shot toward her car. She wishes for an auto-opening key fob which the car will never have, but if she has enough of a lead, she'll be able to unlock the door and get inside before anyone catches her. She skids to a stop at the driver's side door, key already in hand, and risks a look back. It's a mistake.

A fist slams against her jaw and she stumbles back. "Fuck!" she shouts at the pain, at the bearer of the fist. It's not the probably-ex-military guy, it's the player she might have lost to. "I had a full house, you know!"

"And I had a royal flush," he says, shaking out his fist, "but we'll never really know now, will we?" He holds out his hand. "Now give me those keys."

"I don't think so." She pats the top of the car. "This girl and I have a special bond. And...?" It's then that she sees parking ticket number ten plastered to the windshield. "...A lot of unpaid parking tickets between us. There's no way you're getting in the way of that." 

And then, because he's not expecting it, she flat-out tackles the guy, powering him into a dumpster a couple yards away and knocking the wind out of him. She doesn't stay to see if he'll get back up.

When she peels out of the alley, Eddie Rabbit's "Driving My Life Away" screams out of the windows. "You think I don't know that?" she yells at the tape deck. Sometimes she could do without the commentary.

* * *

Grey finds Dex staring at the latest parking ticket with a bemused expression on her face.

"Which one is that now?" he asks, wiping his hands distractedly on his pants.

"I dunno," she says with a shrug. "Thirteen, fourteen? I've lost count." In fact, she knows it's unlucky number thirteen, and of course she would get it parked right outside the building that Grey's been fixing up for his new bar.

"I'm kinda surprised she's lasted long enough to _get_ that many tickets, to tell you the truth," he says, but she thinks she detects a thread of respect running through those words.

"Told you she'd be a great car. As long as I can keep her running, she'll be by my side."

"Don't you mean, as long as _I_ can keep her running?" he says with a laugh.

"I mean, I thought that was kinda implied." She kicks at the front tire affectionately. "You knew I meant that, right, girl?" The stereo starts up, a synthesizer melody floating from inside. "Oh come on, the engine isn't even on! How is that possible?"

"I'm starting to think anything's possible where you're concerned, Dex." Shaking his head, Grey starts walking back toward the building. "Good luck with that!"

"Wait a minute, aren't you going to take a look at it?" she calls after him. He just waves her off and goes inside. She looks back at her car, the music jauntily playing away. With a mental shrug, she opens the door and gets in. "Maybe you just want to get a little wash? Or to take a turn around the city?" What the hell, she doesn't have anything better to do today, and honestly? She can't think of anything else she'd rather do, either.


End file.
